


it's high noon somewhere

by ChopLogic



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Cuddling, Hanzo knows his weed and is mildly impressed, M/M, McCree is a terrible liar, McCree will also find the stupidest most difficult way of doing things because he can, Pointless fluff, Recreational Drug Use, Shotgunning, manly dudes who kiss but they aren't in a proper relationship cause they're NERDS
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-10
Updated: 2016-06-10
Packaged: 2018-07-14 03:49:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7151849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChopLogic/pseuds/ChopLogic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>old habits die hard, good thing there's a private little cliff a ways away from the Gibraltar base to indulge it</p><p>(god bless all the people who make high noon weed jokes)</p>
            </blockquote>





	it's high noon somewhere

**Author's Note:**

> I don't play overwatch I'm just stuck in this ninja cowboy garbage bin don't hate.  
> Also the image of these two getting stoned and cuddly would not leave me be so have this garbage.

The sun was drifting low, sparkling off the sea as gulls rode the breeze in lazy circles. _Just like buzzards_ , thought McCree as he hopped up to take a seat on a tall, sun-warmed rock, _No matter where you roam there's always something flying overhead, watching._ Mud brown eyes flicked to his left, up the narrow path he had stepped along mere moments ago, squinting as if he could will anyone who might of followed him away with a look. The sea crashed on the rocks far below, gulls cried overhead, a breeze with a salty tang toyed with the worn edge of his serape. 

"Ahuh," he grunted, settling himself on the rock before reaching for one of the canisters that hung off his belt. Humming quietly, he unhooked it and twisted it open, smiling softly as a little pack of papers and a baggie with a few purple-y green clumps in it fell out into his lap. The cap came apart in two, blunt teeth of a grinder inside, setting down the canister he picked up the bag and shook a nugget into the grinder before setting the top back on. He carefully twisted the two parts, counting under his breath; "..Five an' six an' seven an' eight," He paused, opening the grinder slightly to check on how fine he had minced it.

A thick earthy smell greeted him, only the finest bud for Jesse McCree, he closed the grinder and gave it a few more twists for an even twelve. He set it down on the rock beside him, reaching for his belt again to produce a toothpick which he set in his teeth. With deft fingers he plucked a piece of rolling paper from it's little envelope and held it in a curve up near his face, his metal hand reached for the grinder, thumb flicking the top off onto the rock before bringing the freshly ground herb to the paper. The scent was so strong it nearly made his eyes water, but with careful motions he scraped the weed into the paper with the end of his toothpick.

"An' they say that's th'hard way of doing it, _psch_ ," the cowboy smiled around the toothpick as he rolled the blunt carefully between forefinger and thumb. The herb dispersed along the paper as he spat out his toothpick, he licked the paper's edge as he set the grinder down. He hummed again as he rolled it, carefully twisting the ends until they held their shape. "Now ain't that a thing of beauty," he held the blunt up against the sunset, admiring his handiwork. He set it between his lips as he tidied up his lap; no need to have incriminating evidence around if someone were to happen upon him, not that they would unless they followed him here.

Jesse's gaze slid to the left again, eyeing the narrow path. No one had followed him, no one ever did, nobody even knew this place existed probably. With all his paraphernalia away, he produced a zippo and thumbed it, shielding the flame with his metal hand as he lit the end of the blunt. He took a slow, careful drag as he tucked his lighter away again, acclimatizing his lungs to the smoke as his metal hand took the blunt from his lips. he let the smoke curl up out of his mouth in long white tendrils, watching as the breeze whipped them away into nothingness. 

"So that's what you do up here," The low voice startled McCree, fingers tensing on the blunt enough to bend it as his gloved hand went for his gun. He didn't draw, instead his shaded eyes just glared daggers out from under the brim of his hat. Hanzo Shimada stood on the path, leaning against the side of the cliff as casual as can be with the barest hint of a smirk gracing his lips. "Thank you for not shooting me, would of been an awkward trip to miss Ziegler's ward for both of us,"

" _Doctor_  Ziegler," McCree corrected roughly as he carefully bent his blunt straight again. Damn metal fingers, no sense of touch. The samurai chuckled, metal feet silent against the patchy grass as he glided over, leaning again but now by the outlaw's side against the boulder he sat on.

" _Doctor_ , my apologies," Hanzo looked out at the sea, steely grey eyes reflecting the orange light of the sun. "Did she prescribe you that herb, McCree?"

The cowboy nearly swallowed his blunt.

"Sure she did," He replied, a bit too fast to be believable. Hanzo cocked a brow, allowing the southerner a chance to dig his grave deeper. McCree huffed and grit the blunt between his teeth, grabbing his chance without thinking "It's for my arm okay, phantom pains," he waggled the fingers of his prosthetic at the archer as if he could brush off the assassin's disbelief. Jesse glared at the shorter man for a moment more before grunting and turning his attention back to his little indulgence. 

"Phantom pains," Hanzo echoes, slowing the words and pronouncing each syllable with his lilting accent. McCree couldn't look him in the face, feeling his ears tint under his shaggy hair; it was a shitty lie, but there was no taking it back now. There what a soft hum, then the sounds of fabric against rock, the gunslinger turned back to find Hanzo perched on the rock beside him, digging in his waist purse to produce a soft velvet pouch emblazoned with a dragon. "Perhaps I should partake, my scars may be old but my legs do bother me at times," McCree chanced a look at the the archer, noting the soft curve at the corners of the Hanzo's mouth before his gaze dropped to the assasin's hands. 

The gunslinger watched, mind growing fuzzy at the fringes as the archer produced an elegant silver and black pipe. _Kiseru_ , his mind supplied in an attempt to be helpful while buzzed out of all usefulness. He tucked the pouch away again and met McCree's gaze. McCree didn't falter, he matched Hanzo's stony gaze for a moment before returning to his blunt with a smirk on his lips.

"If you are under the impression I'm sharin' you're wrong," McCree chuckled. Embarass me once, shame on you, cajole me into sharing my stash after embarrassing me, shame on you _again_.

"Come now, I'm sure there's some southern pleasantries left in you, Jesse," Hanzo bumped shoulders with him. The cowboy huffed, snorting smoke out of his nose like a cartoon bull as a smile crinkled the corners of his eyes. "Perhaps I should mention introducing random drug tests to Doctor Zeigler when we return to base," Hanzo's voice caught on _drug tests_ , a carefully covered breathy laugh.

"You. Are. _Insufferable_ , Shimada," He straightened up, unclipping the canister and handing it to the archer, "Here, grinder's in the top, there should be enough there for your pipe but don't get piggy with it if there's more," Hanzo bowed his head in thanks and easily packed his pipe, no toothpick needed. The canister was swapped for the zippo and soon Hanzo was taking a drag of his pipe, finger's brushing McCree's as he passed the zippo back. the samurai coughed a little, plume of smoke buffeted by his breath.

"それは強いです" He mumbled, brow cocked as if he was surprised, "Where did you get this?" His tone was light, genuine curiosity colouring his words. McCree cocked a brow of his own before smiling one of his signature easy smiles.

"That, is classified information darlin'," Hanzo snorted and returned to his pipe. They sat in companionable silence together; McCree carefully rolling the points of his spurs against the rock, enjoying their subtle jingle while Hanzo hummed quietly. The gunslinger's vision was blurry along the edges, smearing into blobs of colour if he turned his head too fast, it made the sunset blur into something a more civilized man would call an expressionist painting. 

"Lovely ain't it," he leaned back, careful of the blunt between his fingers, "Nice warm rock t'sit on and a sunset view like this," Hanzo hummed in agreement.

"Reminds me of home," a pause, "You could watch the sun sink behind the cherry blossom trees, lighting them from behind like the clouds here," The gunslinger snuck a sidelong glance at the assassin perched beside him, watching the flared silver end of his pipe tap against his sculpted lips before Hanzo pursed them around the end of the pipe, cheeks hollowing subtly as the embers at the end of the pipe glowed red.

"Y'ever tried shotgunnin'?" the words fell out of Mcree's mouth before his slowed thought process could catch them. Instantly he turned away, barely resisting the urge to grind the end of his blunt between his teeth. Dumb stupid lousy- ass _idioto_ loose-lipped cowboy.

"Er," McCree turned back slowly, ears bright red under his hat with the flush slowly creeping onto his cheeks. Hanzo fixed him with a puzzled look, taking care to turn away to exhale instead of blowing it in McCree's face like he felt he deserved. "No I haven't, it sounds rather dangerous and foolhardy,"

"Ah, well, forget..." Mccree waved his metal hand as if to banish the thought but Hanzo's brow stayed cocked. The cowboy had dug his grave already and now the archer expected him to lie in it. With a sigh he dropped his hand and chewed the inside of his cheek. "Well you take a drag of whatever you're smokin' and you get close up to another person and-" the outlaw's train of thought was quickly derailed as the archer turned to face him a bit better and shuffled closer, bringing the end of his kiseru to rest against his lower lip. Hanzo was setting up to shotgun, _well blow me away_ , thought Jesse McCree. 

"McCree?" He prompted. Oh yeah, right, shotgunning, he was explaining that.

"So you take a drag and you get close like you're gonna kiss, but you don't or at least not immediately, and you let the smoke out an' the other person breathes it in," in conclusion he leaned away a little, taking a final drag on the stubby roach that remained of his blunt. He snuffed the end and stashed it in a pocket to dispose of later. He tried not to think about how Hanzo leaned in, end of his Kiseru brushing his lips like he was about to take a drag. He tried not to think about the assassin's soft lips, smoke curling from them like the barest trickle of water from a pump into the mouth of a man dying of thirst in the hot southern sun. His lungs burned.

"Did you want to try with me?" McCree turned, smoke escaping the corners of his mouth to find Hanzo Shimada, flinty eyes almost all pupil, a breath away from his shoulder and head cocked at a gentle angle. For once in a very long time McCree choked on his smoke, tears pricking the corners of his eyes as his lungs spasmed.

"Wh- _HA_ -what?" he coughed into the crook of his elbow, unsure whether his mellowed brain had gone completely to mush of if Hanzo had really suggested such a thing.

"Did you want to try shotgunning with me, there's still some in my pipe we could-" he motioned to the elegant kiseru, hely gently by the tips of the Archer's strong fingers.

"Hell yes," Southern pleasantries be damned, McCree smiled one part sweetly to two parts swoon-worthy. Hanzo matched his grin with a devilish smirk of his own and took a drag. The gunslinger turned where he sat, leaning in as the samurai drew the pipe away, lips parted with thick smoke spilling out between them. They leaned together, heads angled just slightly and their lips brushed as Hanzo breathed into Jesse. When no more smoke graced the cowboy's lips, a different indulgence took it's place. Soft dry lips brushed his, testing the waters as Hanzo's hands found his shoulders overtop his serape. Gloved and metal hands gently clasped the samurai's forearms, holding him in place as they exchanged chaste kisses.

Hanzo's mouth was all soft and smoky, lips smooth and warm on his dry ones. Closed kisses slowly opened, lips catching eachother and glazing them. The archer's fingers slid up the cowboy's shoulders, brushing over the straps of his chestplate and toying with the collar of his shirt before cradling the back of his head with fingers combed into his long hair. McCree couldn't move to save his life, if this was a gunfight he'd be long dead. (If Hanzo was the one to shoot him in this hypothetical gunfight, the outlaw dared to say he'd be okay with that.)

"Glory," sighed the cowboy once the assassin had pulled away for a breather. In the dwindling red-orange light of sunset he  could just make out Hanzo's flushed lips, pink where they had touched McCree's own. "I barely needed to tell ya anything, you sure you hadn't done that before?"

"I'm a quick learner," Hanzo smiled, joy unguarded before it faltered a little. "That was alright, Jesse? Kissing you?" worry edged his voice a little, McCree shrugged and gave the samurai's wrists a comforting squeeze. 

"Fine by me, darlin'," Hanzo let out a soft chuckle, turning his face against his arm to hide his bare emotion. A flinty look peeked from the corner of the assassin's eye, studying him for a moment before he untucked his head once more.

"Would it be alright by you," the shuffled closer, rock rasping against the shins of his prosthetics, "If we did more of that, I mean, if we kissed more?"

"Absolutely," McCree replied a little breathlessly, mismatched hands leaving the archer's wrists to settle on his hips instead, drawing him in. Hanzo's left hand dropped from McCree's right shoulder for a moment, leaving a warm handprint agains't McCree's neck as the archer picked up his kiseru. He tapped the silver end against the rock, clearing out the debris before stashing it in his waist purse again. He smiled softly before letting himself be pulled into McCree's lap, legs draped over the outlaw's right thigh as he was nestled against McCree's left shoulder with a strong prosthetic arm wrapped around his side and part of his serape draped over his tattooed arm. 

A gently curled finger brushed under Hanzo's greying goatee, turning his face to McCree's for another soft, slow kiss. Each little movement warmed the two, from lips that smoothed over each other to where they were pressed chest to back to where Hanzo had carefully intertwined his fingers with McCree's and pulled them to his chest.

"Mmh, wait," the archer spoke between kisses as if he couldn't decide weather he should stop or keep going. McCree pulled away, brows threatening to pull together in worry. Hanzo's free hand slipped down to his belt, pulling the silver gourd-shaped flask at his waist from his belt. He gave it a slosh, blown-pupil eyes glinting in the the purple dusk like the stars had decided to start twinkling there first instead of the darkening lilac sky. 

"Say Jesse, have you ever tried warm _sake_?"

**Author's Note:**

> Hanzo is supposed to say "It's strong," but as always google translate mangles it thank you google translate.
> 
> Edit; hot shit thank you for all the Kudos (if you really like it tho I thrive on comments), also, I've now made it slightly gayer so enjoy more descriptive kissing.
> 
> Also this may of spurned me to write a longer (read; chaptered) fic of these two weirdos, stay tuned


End file.
